


Saviour

by Otaku_girl



Series: Dandelions in the Wind [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Badass, But not between Geralt/Jaskier, Canon-Typical Violence, Dating, Developing Relationship, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dom/sub, Falling In Love, Feels, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia - Freeform, Get Together, Happy Ending, Injury, Jaskier | Dandelion - Freeform, Kink Negotiation, Kinks, Lambert/Eskel - background, M/M, Minor Injuries, Modern Era, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Pre-Slash, Protectiveness, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otaku_girl/pseuds/Otaku_girl
Summary: Following a bad breakup, Geralt works up the courage to visit Rivia, a local BDSM club recommended to him by a friend. Unfortunately, things don’t go quite as he had hoped when he stumbles across a young man trying to hold his own, four against one. Could this be the start of something more?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dandelions in the Wind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757305
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145





	Saviour

“Now listen here, you-you-you—”

Geralt sighed, his breath coming out as a milky puff in the cold winter air. Shaking off the evening chill, he rolled his shoulders and continued on past the dark alleyway. It had taken him weeks to work up the courage to come. It felt like an eternity since the last time he and Yen had parted ways — _for the final time_ — he reminded himself.

It had rapidly become his mantra, as one night of drinking to forget had turned into two, three, four… it seemed like between one heartbeat and the next, Eskel had appeared from nowhere to wrestle the bottle from his hand and toss him none too gently beneath the frigid spray of his shower.

 _“Pull yourself together. Whatever she did this time can’t be worse than all the times before. She’ll be back. She always comes back. Or you will.”_ It wasn’t his words that had struck a chord with Geralt, nor his tone — he’d been at the end of that particular lecture too many times to count. No, it was the pity behind those amber eyes that had felt more jarring than the impromptu, icy shower — or the parting blow that had left deep red gouges in his cheek as she had stormed off nearly a week earlier. It hadn’t taken long for them to heal. The marks she left never did. But to be on the end of such a look from one of his oldest friends…

_Never again._

Brushing his hands against the soft, supple leather of his trousers, Geralt took another steadying breath. He could do this. He had to do this. The alternative was waiting for Yennefer to tire of her latest toy and return to him, and that clearly wasn’t healthy for either of them. When Lambert had slipped him the scrap of paper with just Rivia and an address hastily scrawled on it, he had thought little of it. Yet here he was, nearly a month later, trying to decide if this counted as rock bottom or there were still untapped depths for him to fall.

“No! Absolutely not! This must be some kind of mistake, gentlemen, please — put me DOWN!”

Amber eyes slipped closed as the obstinate tone turned into something more panicked. “Fuck.”

Shooting one last, longing look at the line that lay ahead, the welcoming lights of Rivia calling to him, he glanced down at his watch. Perhaps there would still be time to get in before they closed the doors to new patrons for the night.

He had gone this long without the guiding sting and biting words of a dominant to help him silence his mind and sink into the sweet, floating oblivion that he craved. What was one more week — _on edge, barely holding on, the desire to do something, anything to drown out the clamour of responsibility, of expectation, of need_ — in the grand scheme of things?

“Put him down.” Geralt’s deep baritone sounded more like a growl, as he scanned the figures filling the alleyway. Three — no, four — on one hardly seemed fair. He had faced better odds, but still - perhaps the night wouldn’t be a complete loss after all. His lips took on a feral twist as two of the men chose to ignore him in favour of the figure who was slumped in the third’s tight grip. The fourth - broad shouldered, smirking cockily - stomped towards him, as his friends wrung another pained grunt from the man slumped in their midst.

“Why dontcha mind your own busi-” Strong, calloused hands gripped the front of his shirt before he could finish, yanking him off of his feet as Geralt pulled the shorter man up to his eye-level. Pressing firmly against the shorter man’s throat, he held him there, revelling in the desperate edge that began gleaming his watery blue eyes.

Glancing down, he noticed the faint red glow of a band on the man’s wrist. “You made it my business when you didn’t take no for an answer.”

“Watch out!” The choked warning had him tossing aside the first man, dismissing him as no longer a threat as the satisfying crunch of something breaking and accompanying yowl reached him. Amber eyes flicked between the remaining men; three red wristbands. Blood splattered on the knuckles of at least two of them, the third shitting out a mouthful of blood and wiping at a bloody nose.

The sour scent of urine and overturned garbage cans caught his attention as his fist slammed into the first to reach him, his other hand rising quickly to grab the back of his head and force the man’s face town towards his raised knee. Hands tangled in his long, white hair, yanking him back as the second man fell, winded and wheezing. Snapping his head back, Geralt grinned as the sickening crunch of a nose breaking could be heard above their panted breathing.

“Well?” He could feel blood trickling down the back of his head - no doubt matting into his disheveled hair - as the last man standing eyed him with obvious nerves. He watched as the other man’s hands twitched towards his jean pockets.

“He’s got a knife.” Geralt’s grin faltered, as the words registered. Taking a slow, confident step forward, he held out his hands.

“Hand it over and go.” He commanded, his voice firm and steady. The hand twitched towards his pocket again.

“Watch—” Before the warning cry was complete, Geralt had the other man’s wrist between his own. Slamming it once, twice, three times against the cold brickwork of the wall beside them, he kicked the knife as far down the alleyway as he could. Taking a step back, Geralt watched as the other man fell to his knees, cradling his limp wrist against his chest. “—out.”

Breath coming in harsh, ragged pants, Geralt’s eyes darted between the fallen men, daring them to take another shot at him. When none moved to do so, he allowed the tension to ease from his shoulders, forcing himself to take slower, deeper breaths.

_Calm. Focus. It’s over._

“My oh my. Thank you for that. I could have taken them, of course. One at a time perhaps, but still. Thank you.” Grey eyes and a wide, cheerful grim were the first things about the shorter man that struck Geralt. Even in the dim light, his outfit looked just on the outlandish side rather than tacky.

Shaking hands came up to push sweat-dampened hair away from his pale skin, the tell-tale glow of a red wristband caught Geralt’s eyes once more. Surely this waif of a man couldn’t be…

“Would you like to come inside? I owe you a drink, at the very least for your kind help and assistance. Come, come - I insist.” Surprisingly firm hands tugged at his arm, pulling him away from the alleyway. As they approached the front of the club, the distinct lack of a queue brought a sinking feeling to Geralt’s stomach. It would seem that he would have to try another night after all.

“We’re closed for the - Jaskier?” The doorman stood up straighter, his bored expression turning stoney as he took in their bloodied appearances. Now that they were under the harsh, fluorescent lighting that spilled out from Rivia, Geralt’s own bloodied knuckles and hair stood out like a red flag. He didn’t want to think what it must look like to the casual observer, as he took in the shorter man - Jaskier’s - rapidly bruising face and bloodied lip.

“None of that now. This fine man—” Jaskier paused pointedly, waiting for Geralt to provide his name. “—did me quite the favour this evening. If you wouldn’t mind calling in a disturbance? The gentlemen in question should still be in the alley out back. Geralt here and I will be at the bar, should the police like to have a word.” Pushing his way past the bouncer, Geralt could just about make out the muttered words under Jaskier’s breath as the deep thrum of the bass pulsed through the club. “If they even bother to come this time.”

Pausing at the cloakroom, Jaskier reached across the unmanned counter to pull something out from below. In his hand, he held out four brightly coloured glow bands: red, yellow, green and white.

“Have you been to Rivia before?” Geralt shook his head silently. The playful smile on Jaskier’s lips fell a notch, as he scanned the taller man’s face for something — Geralt couldn’t quite tell what. “Ah, a first timer. We’ve all been there at one point or another.”

“Not my first time. Just my first time here.” Geralt eyed the bands, his fingers itching to reach out and take one.

“Excellent, excellent! Well, that avoids an awkward explanation at least. Allow me to give a brief rundown; everyone must wear a band, no exceptions. White if you are here just to drink, observe, take in the atmosphere if you will. Nothing wrong with that. All other bands come with a one drink limit - again, no exceptions.” Jaskier waved the white band in one hand as he spoke, gesturing towards the bar that lay at the far side of the room.

“Well, except bottled water of course - that’s unlimited. Wouldn’t want to get dehydrated mid-scene, would you?” He paused again, as though waiting for Geralt’s input.

“Hm.”

Smiling brightly, Jaskier must have momentarily forgotten his injuries, as the wide smile morphed into a grimace. Geralt’s eyes flicked down, as the other man’s split lip started oozing a slow crimson trail once more. Tongue darting out to lick the sluggish trail clean, he grimaced as the metallic taste filled his mouth.

“Red is for dominants, yellow for switches, green for submissives. If you haven’t quite decided yet, I recommend sticking to yellow or white for now.” Despite his words, Jaskier moved to set all but the red band down.

Before he could change his mind, Geralt reached out to pluck the green band from between Jaskier’s fingers. Amber eyes locked onto grey, daring the other man to comment as he tugged the band into place around his own wrist.

“Oh.” Grey eyes widened. A slow smile spread across his lips once more. “Well then. Let me get you that drink to show my thanks. Perhaps we could talk further about what it is you’re looking for?”

“Sure, why not?”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve fallen in love with a new fandom. Submissive Geralt / Dominant Jaskier may be my new, favourite thing. Thanks to some awesome suggestions from a super awesome Discord group, I’m going to try out something a little different this time. This should (hopefully) be the first in a series of short, interconnected one-shots. You can read them alone or together. 
> 
> As always, any feedback (especially constructive criticism!) is very welcome. This is my first time trying out Geralt and Jaskier as characters, so hopefully I haven’t got the characterisation too off. I’ve totally based them both off of the Netflix versions of them, as I have yet to start on the books or game (something which I plan to fix soon).
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy.


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